


Placid below the waves

by SinNotAlone



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Play, Desperation, Dom/sub, Graphic descriptions of caretaking, Humiliation, Incompetence Kink, M/M, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinNotAlone/pseuds/SinNotAlone
Summary: Kylo Ren learns to face inevitable failure with Hux’s firm but steadfast caretaking to buoy him.(Note: Kylo de-ages to approximately five or six in this. It is not adult baby, nor is it underage.)





	

Knees, knobby, fold at sharp angles like the joints of a bird. He perches atop the chair. The seat is almost ample, but the legs are too short by far, designed for a youth half his size. His elbows rest on his thighs, biceps bulging, top heavy. In his hunched position, the grey undershirt he wears rides up, exposing the space-bleached skin above his briefs. The scant underpants punctuate limbs impossibly long. Unshod feet loop around the legs of the chair, and one toe taps a rapid tattoo into the wood.

A plate sits before him, on a table made of the same honey-blonde wood as his chair. Bite sized pieces of fruit wait in uniform rows, slices of cheese in a neat stack off to the side. The mug of milk that rests adjacent is painted with fluffy clouds on a pale blue background. The food obscures much of the pattern adorning the plate, though a sun’s smiling face, peeking through the clouds, is visible between the cheese and fruit.

Kylo picks at a morsel, disturbing the meticulous arrangement. “Don’t play with your food,” Hux chides.

“”m not,” Kylo responds, before quickly jamming the bit of fruit into his mouth. He chews artlessly, swallows with a gulp.

“With bites that small, you could probably manage to chew more carefully.” Hux drops the datapad along with all pretense of work and sits back in his chair to watch, vigilant. Kylo isn’t allowed to prepare his own snacks yet, but Hux typically lets him consume them without assistance.

Kylo stretches his legs, low and long, and scoots in to the table. He’s able to slide most of the way underneath, but the table top catches at mid-thigh, and he can go no farther. He hooks his left arm around the back to the chair to stop from slipping and, with his right, picks up another piece of fruit. This time, he brings it straight to his mouth, no fiddling. It’s not even a mouthful, but his jaw works slowly, silently, and he is sure Hux can have no complaint as he swallows it down.

Before the next bite, Kylo relaxes his hold on the chair and shifts position, eager to take some of the pressure off his legs. He tries to steady himself by digging in his heels, but his socks slide against the polished allacrete floor. The chair skids back and slips out from under him with a grating scrape that resounds in the otherwise silent room. He reaches for the table, to soften the impact as his tailbone connects with the floor, but that only disrupts the dishes. He lets out an ungainly yelp and milk splashes over the rim of the mug.

Kylo slumps, dazed, and watches the rivulet of milk make its way to the edge of the table. It dribbles over and pools on the floor. Kylo is helpless to stop the mess. Their ground rules deny Kylo the use of the force during these sessions. This is his chance to experience what life would have been like for an average boy, not a budding Jedi.

The puddle grows larger, approaching his tangle of limbs. He scrambles away as if it were a flow of lava. It is only when he looks frantically around him that Hux makes to rise from his point of observation.

The sharp corners of Hux’s durasteel desk are a stark contrast to the round table that Kylo retreats from. The desk is standard issue, found in every officer’s room, but Kylo’s furniture, Hux had hunted weeks to find the perfect set. His vision for Kylo is one utilitarian but inviting. He’d told Kylo as much, when Kylo had sent him photos of a brightly painted table from the HoloNet. But no, that wouldn’t do for a boy like him. That degree of frivolity was for coddled infants, or so Hux had said. The set he decided on, Hux had termed eminently appropriate. It was distinctly childlike but not garishly so, and after the disappointment of the table, Hux had allowed Kylo the indulgence of his whimsical dish set.

“Ben, Ben, Ben.” Hux clicks his tongue and grabs a towel. It’s butter yellow, with a high, looping pile. He swipes it across the table before dropping it on the floor to absorb the pool of spilled milk. Kylo nuzzles a silent thanks into his leg, and Hux pats him on the head, acknowledging him like he is a needy pet. “Let’s see if we can try this again,” Hux says, righting the toppled chair. Kylo waits for Hux’s helping hand before he rises. He leads Kylo back to his seat, cautious to circumnavigate the mess, and pushes him in to the table.

Hux lectures, “I thought you could handle this on your own, but I was evidently mistaken.” Kylo isn’t sure if the beleaguered tone in his voice is entirely feigned. He frowns and scrunches his legs up back into the perched position that preceded the fall, better uncomfortable than incompetent.

Hux crouches next to him and runs his hand from Kylo’s brow, to cheek, to grip his chin. He turns Kylo’s sullen face toward his own and places a chaste kiss on the pouting lips. A mutual sigh mingles exasperation and relief.

Hux sits back on his heels and selects a handful of food from the plate. One by one, he passes each piece to Kylo’s waiting mouth. Kylo has to speed his chewing to keep with Hux’s pace, and he loses some finesse in the process. Still, he keeps his mouth closed most of the time, except when Hux prompts him with, “Open up.” Then, in a striking imitation of a baby bird, Kylo tilts his head back and opens his mouth for the waiting tidbit. Hux’s fingers, sticky with juice, linger a second too long on full lips, occasionally dipping just farther than necessary to deposit the food.

Kylo presses his lips into a firm line and turns his head away to indicate that he’s had his fill. The cheese is gone; it’s always the first to go. Hux knows by now to carefully portion Kylo’s intake. He made Kylo aware of this last time Kylo finished all the cheese before even half of the fruit was gone. The fruit has turned brown around the edges and is a little dry from sitting out too long. Hux pries up the final pieces, leaving nothing but blue-black smudges across the plate.

The half-dozen bites fit easily into Hux’s palm. He holds it in front of Kylo’s face, but Kylo keeps his lips sealed shut. Weariness edges into Hux’s voice as he says, “You know you’re expected to clean your plate. I’ve prepared the precise amount appropriate for a boy your age.”

A puff of breath exits through Kylo’s nose in a sort of resigned half-sigh before he drops his mouth back open. Hux jams all six pieces of fruit inside at once, then cups his hand over Kylo’s mouth, making sure he chews and swallows without delay.

There is only a little milk left, though Hux still warns, “Don’t spill Ben. You've already made quite enough of a mess,” as he passes him the mug. Kylo grips it in both hands and takes a sip. It’s lukewarm by this point, and he cringes at the unpleasant viscosity. Eager to get it over with, he tips it back in two swigs, like a dram of whiskey in the hands of an eager drunk. He returns the mug to Hux, who inspects it before depositing it on the table.

Hux makes a quick trip to the refresher, and returns with clean hands and a damp cloth. His still-moist fingers wrap around the back of Kylo’s neck, and with a firm pressure he draws Kylo to his feet. He takes Kylo’s right hand and swathes it in the cloth. The warm wetness penetrates his skin, and he lets his limb hang limp under Hux’s ministrations. The little nubs of the cloth are a gentle abrasive, like the papillae on a cat’s tongue, laving him clean. They scrub into every crevice, wiping away the remnants of his snack and leaving Kylo’s hand clean and supple.   

Hux slowly lowers Kylo’s drooping hand back to his side, a consideration that helps Kylo remain comfortably within the mental cocoon he’s building. Hux murmurs, “My tidy boy. Now turn your face.” Kylo complies with tranquil lassitude; his eyes are wide saucers of amber. They stare, out of focus, at the fragments of dust dancing above Hux’s shoulder, watching as they glimmer in the artificial light.

Hux places his hand under Kylo’s chin and presses with his forefinger and thumb to tilt Kylo’s face. It’s a firm grip, but not tight enough to break Kylo’s reverie. He keeps at it until Kylo is arranged just so, slightly parted lips hovering inches from Hux’s own. Only then does he run the corner of the cloth along Kylo’s fruit-stained mouth. The cloth, which had felt so soothing against his hand, is too rough for the sensitive skin of his mouth. He unconsciously tugs at Hux’s grip, but Hux’s hand remains steady. Hux follows the two leisurely swipes of the cloth with the press of his own lips. He makes no effort to deepen the kiss, just holds Kylo there, a stable warmth.

Kylo’s eyelids draw closed. His breath is a shallow, even stream. It grows humid, trapped in the slim space between nose and mouth. He sags against Hux, stooping so their foreheads brush. Hux’s brow is cool, and though Kylo’s eyes are closed, he knows that Hux’s are open, measuring each move Kylo makes, deciding where to push and when to aid. His gaze isn’t heavy. It doesn’t weigh him down like his mother’s judgement had, until he’s struggling to make it to the surface, breathless. Instead, it’s the comforting heft of a warm quilt on a frigid evening.

When Hux pulls back, Kylo blinks his eyes, adjusting to the sighted world once again. His hair has fallen to curtain them, and for a moment he is still shrouded in darkness even with his eyes open. He shakes his hair back, and Hux drops the cloth to rest atop the earlier mess. Withdrawing completely, Hux beckons him to follow. His voice trails after him. “Seems it’s rather past time for your nap. I shouldn't have let you dawdle so long.”

Kylo has a little cot set up beside Hux’s big bed. It’s low to the ground, and just long enough for Kylo to lie on with legs fully extended. It was no small feat to find a small bed that would accommodate such a large man, but Hux persevered. One acquired, he made space for the cot in his own bedchamber, eliminating a bedside table rather than relegating Kylo to a separate room. That way he can keep watch, so if Kylo needs him, he’s already there. Kylo’s been better lately, even sleeping through the night on some occasions. But there are still moments of blank panic where a crescendo of pained whimpers wakes Hux.

Kylo doesn’t use the cot all the time. He still has a bed in his personal quarters, and sometimes when he’s been very good or been made to feel very small, he sleeps beside Hux in his big bed. The cot is always there though, stowed conveniently in the closet. Hux sets it up before each visit, as the difference in stature between the two beds helps reinforce Kylo’s headspace.

Upon entering the bedroom, Kylo is drawn to his little cot without sparing a glance at Hux’s bed. He knows well the procedure for nap time, as without fail, at least a short period is set aside for his rest during each encounter. Kylo is able to spend days without sleep if need be, but Hux reminds him that just because he can does not mean he should.

Kylo patters over to the cot, his stocking feet whispering against the carpet. The covers have already been turned back at a neat 45 degree angle. He lays himself down, sliding his legs under the sheets. His head sinks into the down pillow, an absurd luxury for a military man, and with hands folded across his chest, he patiently waits for Hux to attend.

Hux arranges the room to suit his purposes. He’ll work while Kylo rests; he always does, but within arm’s reach. He carries a chair to the head of the cot. It hits the floor with a dull thump, and Kylo’s head whips back to the source of the noise, but Hux is gone already, rifling through the closet. He retrieves a stuffed puffer pig and brings it to Kylo’s outstretched arms. Kylos fingers undulate across its plush fabric. He lets out a sigh of pleasure as he nuzzles into it, pressing kisses to the crown of its head. The fuzzy material tickles his lips, and he wrinkles his nose but is not dissuaded from continuing his caresses. The pig is large enough for Kylo to curve his torso around, which is just what he does as he shifts onto his side. Its snout peeks out from under his chin; his arms wrap around its chubby belly.

Once Kylo is situated, Hux pulls up the flannel sheet, followed by the blanket, and makes an even cuff. He is fastidious as he smooths the bedclothes over Kylo’s shoulders, tucking them in tight. Hux behaves as if any exposed expanse of skin were liable to frostbite in his temperate rooms, though he makes a slight accommodation for the puffer pig, ensuring that its snout pokes above the covers. Kylo lets his eyes drift closed as Hux envelopes him, secure within his cuirass of pacifying flannel.

“Looks like we can forego a story this time,” Hux says, his typically sharp enunciation softened by gentle amusement. Kylo nods, eyes firmly shut, chin burrowing into the stuffed animal.

Hux stays by Kylo’s side, the low hum of his datapad lulling Kylo to sleep. One of his hands strands its way through Kylo’s hair, providing a continued point of contact. Nimble fingers massage Kylo’s scalp and consciousness gradually slips away, like the ebbing tide.

Kylo does not dream, he is not asleep long enough. All too soon, a marked pressure grows in his bladder. It hauls him back to wakefulness. He shifts onto his back in an attempt to relieve the discomfort, but the minor jostle injects a burning pang into his lower abdomen. He tries lying still, knees tenting the sheets while his pelvic muscles flutter, clenching and releasing. The position provides momentary relief, but it quickly evaporates as the pressure reaches a profound level. He won’t be able to make it to the refresher in time if he waits much longer, so he sits up and makes to swing his legs over the edge of the cot. The stuffed pig falls from Kylo’s grasp, its glass eyes observing his urgency.

“No, Ben.” Hux’s voice intrudes out of nowhere. The engulfing desperation had edged Hux’s presence from Kylo’s awareness.

Kylo’s _but..._ draws into a piteous whine.

“You’ve been down for less than twenty minutes,” Hux balks, pointing back toward the cot.

“But... I have to go.” Kylo’s need is so acute that he dares to challenge.

The harried sigh of a long-suffering custodian precedes Hux’s rejoinder. “You know you’re supposed to ask _before_ I tuck you in.”

“I forgot.” Kylo knows his excuse is feeble and unlikely to sway Hux’s mind. He crosses his legs, his hips squirming in awkward little twitches.

“If you forget something as simple as using the toilet, how can I trust you with more important responsibilities?”

“I. I need.”

Hux interrupts, “You need to rest.” The finality of the statement is punctuated by the heel of Hux’s hand pressing firmly against Kylo’s sternum. Kylo lowers himself to the cot once more and contracts, winding inward until he’s a tight little ball, vibrating with need.

Beads of perspiration bloom across his forehead. A drop of sweat crawls down the nape of his neck. The thin fabric of his undershirt sticks to skin, clammy in a way that makes him want to crawl out of it, if only he had the wherewithal to do anything but cringe. The ache in his belly is so keen, he fears he may burst open in a torrent of stubbornness. 

The need overwhelms.

It’s hard at first, to relax enough to start the flow. The conscious effort required cements the fact that this is no accident. He tells himself he’ll release just enough to take the edge off, but once he lets loose, he cannot stop. The warm wetness soaks through his meager underpants to trickle down his thighs, pooling in the creases behind his knees. When the faintly acrid smell reaches his nose, he lets out high-pitched hum of shame.

Hux shushes Kylo, murmuring, “These things happen.”

Once emptied, Kylo basks in the euphoria that follows the cessation of great exertion. The haze of relief that wraps him is more comforting than any blanket. His breathing slows from a little hitched pant, lodged somewhere mid-trachea, to deep steady inhales. He fills his lungs at last.

His mind has emptied as well, the relief wiping out any lingering concerns. For a moment his entire world is the little hills and valleys of his pillowcase, the fuzz of the flannel like a fresh coat of snow. But before he can grow truly comfortable, the liquid starts to cool. Kylo hips migrate across the narrow cot, until he’s hanging off the edge in another precarious balancing act. There was too much inside him, and he’s messed the width of the pallet. Panic rises then vocalizes—whimpers to sniffles to sobs.

Hux halts Kylo’s escalation with a tight squeeze of his shoulder. His fingers pry into Kylo’s mind just as they dig into the meat of his trapezius. They loosen the snare that was perilously tightening.

Hux leans forward, his spine curving in a broad arch, careful not to brush Kylo’s damp bedclothes. His eyes wrinkle and lips purse as he assesses Kylo’s state. The hand on Kylo’s shoulder releases, and the back of it presses against his forehead, as if some fever had caused him to lose control, rather than Hux’s deliberate denial. A shudder runs up his spine, and Hux removes his hand.

“I’ll be right back,” Hux promises as he abruptly straightens. Kylo barely registers his absence before he is back by his side. “There you are,” Hux coos and wraps a fluffy towel wraps around Kylo’s hips, shifting him to lie atop it. Kylo lifts up, just enough to allow Hux to peel the sodden underpants from his skin, then sinks back into the towel. Reveling in the soft, absorbent material, he goes slack for a moment, though he knows it will quickly soak through. Hux deposits the soiled garment at the foot of the bed, and guilt begins to percolate through Kylo’s mind at the thought that someone will need to take care of all the messes he’s made today.

Hux’s steadfast hand helps Kylo to his feet and draws him toward the refresher, a tether guiding him through the fog of shame.

 

* * *

 

The downy hairs on Kylo’s thighs prickle to attention as he waits, clad in socks and shirt the same shade of grey as the tile that covers the floor and walls. He would blend in, if not for the bare skin from ankles to belly. He’s ill-prepared for the cool air of the refresher. A flush heats his face when he notes the damp hem of his shirt, clinging to his back. Wetness lingers too in the folds and creases of his flesh, which chills him as the moisture evaporates.

He wants to bolt to Hux, burrow his head in his lap. Instead he stands still as Hux prepares his bath, for patience is something he is meant to learn. Hux sits on the edge of the tub, testing the temperature at the tap. He adjusts it hotter then cooler by fractions of an inch, letting the water flow over his fingertips. Once satisfied, he depresses the stopper and casts a glance in Kylo’s direction. Kylo’s gaze snaps to the floor, and he inspects his socks; Hux says it’s not polite to stare. His tummy tightens and he wiggles one toe against the start of a hole in his sock, worrying it larger.  

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Hux extends an inviting hand, gestures for Kylo to stand before him. The urge to be under Hux’s hands propels him one step forward, then another, but the tightness travels down his thighs to his knees, forming fetters. Hux releases an impatient huff. With a wolfish look in his eyes, he reaches, takes Kylo’s hand, and pulls him to the edge of the bath.

His fingertips glide down Kylo’s calf, and upon reaching his ankle, Hux instructs, “Lift up for me.” Kylo tries not to squirm at the touch and complies. Hux rolls the sock down his ankle, commenting, “I can’t have you wearing these sorry things.” As his thumb gently circles the bony protuberance of his fibula, he sighs and continues, “Really, I think we’ll have to sort out your clothing tomorrow. It reflects poorly on the both of us when you're threadbare.” Kylo doesn’t know where to focus, on Hux’s harsh words or his mild touch. It’s too much effort to process both. He simply nods in acceptance; it’s best Hux takes care of these things. He doesn’t mind that the socks end up in the waste receptacle, along with the dampened undershirt.

Hux helps Kylo sink down into the sufficiently warm—but not too hot—bathwater. His body relaxes in the warm embrace, and he slides down the wall of the tub, until the water reaches his chest. He’s admittedly too large for the small bathtub, and his knees erupt in islands above the surface.

Hux stretches to grab the soap and sponge from where they rest above Kylo’s head. From his reclined position, Kylo eyes are level with the erection tenting Hux’s pants. He moves on impulse and paws with damp hands at the front of Hux’s trousers, leaving a darkened splotch in the wake of his eagerness. A barely audible query passes his lips. “May I?” Kylo just wants to help; he knows how to help Hux with this, he’s learned that much at least. “Please?” It’s the least he can do, after all Hux does for him.

Hux swats his hand away. “Not now Kylo. That can wait until you’re sorted.”

Hux works the soap into a rich lather against the sponge. The scent that drifts toward Kylo is perfectly clinical, not masked by any perfumes. When the suds have engulfed the sponge and are dripping down Hux's wrists, he guides Kylo forward and begins his task. Kylo rests his chest against his knees, providing clear access to his back. The sponge circles against his shoulders, and Kylo lets his head fall, chin perched on one knee. Hux is thorough, progressing down his back in overlapping figure-eights.

Hux has instructed Kylo before on the proper methods for bathing, but Kylo is thankful he has not selected this moment for a test. All Kylo has to do is exist and let Hux take care of his needs.

Hux provides the same treatment to chest and arms, legs and toes. He holds Kylo’s foot still as he swipes the sponge between each digit. Kylo can’t help but wiggle as all his tender parts are scrubbed, though the touch between his legs is no more intimate than that of a nurse cleaning his charge.

The water is starting to cool by the time Hux says, “Bend your head for me.” Kylo is prompt in following instruction, and Hux rewards him, interspersing the firm massage of fingers against his scalp with mild caresses down his neck. “You can be a very good boy when you want to,” Hux commends. Kylo watches the soap suds drift across the water and feels and similar buoyancy himself.

When it comes time to rinse, Hux tells Kylo to shut his eyes but covers them with his hand as an additional precaution. He rinses twice before retrieving a clean towel and draping it over Kylo’s shoulders. Hux’s touch becomes generous, and the method he uses to dry Kylo involves more embracing than is strictly necessary. Kylo presses into each pet and stroke.  

Warm and dry, he feels refreshed, as though he’s just woken from a long rest. The recent travail drifts away, and he preens and hums his assent when Hux notes, “Properly clean now, aren’t you.”

Hux helps Kylo step out of the tub, but leaves him to wait as he hangs the towel up to dry. Though Hux has ministered to every inch of his body, Kylo feels exposed without the water to curtain him. Hux doesn’t return to Kylo after he puts the towel away. Instead he stands with his back to the sink, as far from Kylo as the cramped room will allow him to be. His eyes roam up and down Kylo’s body, and though Hux has no faculty with the force, Kylo believes he can see inside him, to the marrow of his bones.

A benign smirk plays at Hux’s lips. The corners of his mouth quirk upward in an expression that does nothing to soften his eyes. Those are hard and greedy. He wears the look of a card shark the moment before he shows his winning hand. His lips part, and the quick inhale that precedes his speech drags long for Kylo.

“We don’t want to have to do this all over again, do we?” Hux says, shaking his head in answer to his own question.  

Kylo’s skin shrinks tight around his chest as Hux continues, “It’d probably be best if I decide when you use the toilet. At least for the time being.” He pauses to gestures back toward the sleeping quarters. “To avoid any more accidents.”

The humiliation seems to liquefy his insides. Blood drains from his face to pool between his legs.

“Do you have anything to say Ben?”

The flurry in his belly grows more intense; it ricochets from stomach to lungs to throat. Kylo’s voice is as small as he feels, when he says, “No. Not if you think...”

“Now, before we put you back to bed.” Hux’s gesture to the toilet completes the death knell.

It’s far fewer steps to the toilet than Kylo would have liked. He focuses his mind on the deep expanse of space, lightyears from any inhabitants. The walls recede and he envisions a vista of nothingness, not even air. No one can hear the silent scream building at the betrayal of his own body.

“Ben.” At this intrusion, Kylo jerks to attention, like being shocked to wakefulness at the edge of sleep. His sharp intake of breath seems to echo off the sterile ceramic surface. Kylo has detached himself from his desires for as long as he can remember; Hux urges him to be present.

“Come on, Ben. You can do it.”

Kylo’s cock feels heavy in his hand. It’s still swollen, though not close to full hardness. The lights are so bright, reflecting off the tile like the sun on a placid lake. He wants to close his eyes but he doesn’t dare. Instead, he counts the tiles on the wall and waits for his body to relax. When he reaches twenty-three, it comes, just a trickle. It takes only a few seconds before he’s empty again.

Still, Hux queries, “Doesn’t that feel better?”

Kylo isn’t sure if Hux expects a response. He compromises and mumbles his, “Yes,” to the wall.

Hux leads Kylo back to the sleeping quarters. The cot is absent, whisked away, Kylo assumes, by a discretely-programed service droid. With his usual habitat missing, he feels lost and stands dumbly near the spot it previously occupied. He nibbles at the inside of his cheek and scrunches his toes against the carpet, seeking a physical anchor.

“Be still,” Hux says as he finishes preparing him for bed. A wide-tooth comb smooths the tangles in his hair, and he winces a little at a snarl that requires considerable coaxing. Once the comb is able to run freely through his hair, Hux orients his head forward to pick a straight part.

Hux has dedicated the bottom drawer in his dresser to Kylo’s belongings. He draws it open, shifts aside a bathrobe, and pulls out a suit of pajamas. They are blue and white, striped like cirrus clouds against a bright summer sky. Hux hold the pant legs open for Kylo to climb in, draws them up, and ties the drawstring tight at his waist. He moves behind Kylo to help him into the top, then spins him around to button the front.

At the last button, Hux’s hands linger. His eyelashes are translucent filaments against eyes bright as shards of ice, and Kylo can feel their chill as they flicker across his body. Hux twines his fingers with the loose strands of Kylo’s hair, tells him what a beautiful boy he is, stringing sweetness with tender malice.

His grip leads Kylo along to the bed. A few strand are wound too tight in Hux’s fist, and Kylo’s eyes water at the sharp pain. He lays Kylo down on his back, then releases his hand to unbuttons his own pants. A yank gets them around his thighs, and Hux hurries onto the bed, as if this were a furtive tryst in some back alley, rather than a planned encounter within his own quarters. He straddles Kylo’s chest, not too heavy, just an anchoring weight.

“Now that you’re taken care of.” Hux cups Kylo’s cheek, the stroke of his thumb a bare feather of a touch. He feeds his cock into Kylo’s mouth with his other hand. Kylo is unable to adjust the depth, and he retches as Hux bottoms out in the back of his throat. The feeling that this is inescapable consoles him; he doesn’t want to go anywhere. All he needs is to relax his throat, just the way Hux has shown him.

“Well done,” Hux grits out, before he plunges back in.

**Author's Note:**

> The bathtub was an essential plot point for me. Let’s pretend Hux’s quarters would be equipped with one. Tender, caring sonic showers just don’t hold the same emotional charge. 
> 
> As always, feel free to harass me [on Tumblr](https://sinnotalone.tumblr.com/).


End file.
